Coyote Mercury

words, birds and whatever else by James Brush

Year: 2017 (page 1 of 2)

even in Austin
longing for Austin
the grackle

–after Bashō (tr: Jane Reichhold)

slow school day
circles of green moss
on concrete

memorial bench
over a decade old now
weeds between the stones

spring red bud
an open hand
catching sky

two vultures
fly toward the sunrise
almost spring

Here & There: Recent Publications & Other Things

A quick run-down of some recent publication announcements and other nice things. I’m happy to have had the following work published and recognized over the past month or so:

“Resolution” at Praxis Magazine

“The Singer” at One Sentence Poems

What Stranger Miracles (White Knuckle Press, 2016) reviewed and nominated for a 2017 Elgin Award of the Science Fiction Poetry Association

My thanks to the editors at Praxis, One Sentence Poems, and the Science Fiction Poetry Association for their interest in my work.

And, of course in case you missed it (and because I’m still over-the-moon about this), there’s Chasing Headlights, the EP from Cwtch (vocals: Marie Craven/music: Paul Foster). The lyrics are remixed from poems in my book Highway Sky (“God Bless Johnny Cash,” “For Gasoline,” “At Night,” and “Night at the Interstate Diner”):

 

When the Parade Comes

The live oaks grow angry. They bend toward the ground, scoop up children and hold them above the performances of ambiguous kings. Kids sitting in the branches trade Pokémon cards and look like ornaments for some future parade. They reach down to help up the ones left on the ground. Someone helps a turtle across a busy street. Every act of kindness looks like an act of defiance.

2.1.17

flash of black / bird's wings or daydream / whispered truth

1.30.17

streaks of sunlight/like dragonflies in the reeds/spring in midwinter

The Tune Without the Words

Peculiar wind whistles through the streets: cold from the north, warm and humid from the south. It changes by the minute. I check Twitter to see what I should wear but decency is so out of fashion, and all the pale models wear wings torn from dragonflies and shoes of rhino hide. I study scorpions and avarice and plant hope deep in the ground where scrub jays cache their food. I have learned seventeen synonyms for fiasco.

Older posts

© 2017 Coyote Mercury

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑

%d bloggers like this: